


The Fifth Season

by Bellamyisfromspace



Category: Original Work
Genre: Apocalypse, British Female Character, Character Study, Dystopia, I label the character black but it isn't actually mentioned, Sci-Fi, Supernatural - Freeform, i spent months on this, world building, writting prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 18:51:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11766171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellamyisfromspace/pseuds/Bellamyisfromspace
Summary: It wasn't really a season. Seasons normally last more than thirty six hours and the death toll isn't normally this high. However something was happening and the world wasn't really prepared for what was hunting them in the dark.-Based off a writing prompt for children.





	The Fifth Season

The Fifth Season

No one talks about the fifth season. Not any more. I don't have a great deal of time. My metaphorical timer just started so I guess I will start at what we know. Spring starts in March. Summer starts on the 21st of June. Autumn in September and Winter begins officially in December. However ‘it’ does not have a date. No official time. In the beginning it would stray no earlier than August and no later than October, but then there was that time in June and no one was ready. God, we just... they changed the rules and we weren't ready.

Science tells us that the Earth goes round the sun in a vague oval shape and that the spinning of the planet allows the light to shine onto the Earth at set time intervals. My geography teacher in my fifth year really believed this. He told us about the tilting of the earth and how it affected the climate and that there was this thing called the ITCZ. Don't ask me what it stood for, I've long forgotten. Anyway light goes into our eyes and reflects off the cornea or something (I dropped Biology as quickly as I could) and that's how we see. But when ‘it’ happens science doesn't exist, or it does but something happens to us. According to the early reports, the sun was still shining during the season and the lights were working but we couldn't see. The whole world goes blind for thirty six hours. But we can see. We can see them, those god forsaken things, and while the high tech, infrared, high resolution, camera things can't see them, they can see the carnage. 

My big brother was a scientist. We were so proud of him. Mum would go down to the photo-shop and have every single one of his degrees and even those Academy exam things photocopied (he wanted to keep the originals) and have them framed so she could put them up on the wall where everyone could see how smart her boy was. My Higher results were framed as well. Not as impressive but still in a nice dark wood frame beside the old peach lamp that once belonged to my grandma. When my brother was flown over to America for top secret work my mum’s entire book club knew the very next day. When ‘it’ started happening, the phone calls from my brother became fewer. And when a tornado, completely out of nowhere and entirely out of season, swept his research facility up and killed everyone in his department, we knew what he was researching but we never said. Everyone knew, but were too scared.

I can hear hissing coming from the kitchen down the hall. I don't think they want to leave evidence behind. I'm putting this on the drive so that if I stop suddenly it will still be saved. Still accessible to someone. Anyone.

The lady on the news, the nice one with the pretty curls who smiled genuinely and not that fake tacky smile, she was once given the task of reporting on the losses. She said the words- the three little words- and she started to cry. She didn't mean it, but they had rolled up on the TelePrompter and she just said them and the next day there was a different lady with straight hair and a strained smile as she reported how the previous news reader had tragically died that night due to an electric fire. A faulty fuse they said. The day after that I saw the local minister choke on a leaf that had flown into his mouth. (You know when people used to whip themselves during the black plague because they believed God was angry with them? I always thought the Minister would be one of those people.) It was because of them that everyone stopped mentioning ‘it’ all together. Counting supplies became a regular excuse for not going out on a Saturday night and they stopped building windows on the ground floor of new houses. The hand rails lining the walls of every room in Britain and the sudden addition of Braille to every random product you could pick up in Tescos. No one blinked. 

The lamps flickering. The old peach one that belonged to my grandma. I smell gas. God, this is going to be an impressive light show. 

I was brilliant at Braille, an absolute wizard. When ‘it’ started I taught kids at the local community centre. The adults started coming to learn too and the council just kinda started paying me for it, so that's what I did. I taught people how to read in the dark. I bought this little grey typewriter thing, but instead of letters like the ones you're reading it had six little keys and one big key and you used them to make all the letters. It was like playing a piano. I got really into writing then. Mostly children's books so parents could teach their kids how to read Braille as they learnt to read. I would leave blank bits so the kids had room to draw what they thought was happening in the story. I once stayed up all night writing and writing this same story about a mouse who built a train to the North Pole so that the parents could give it to their kids on Christmas. This really sweet teen called Shannon painted the most beautiful red train with a fluffy mouse beside it on all these cheap grey A5 binders so all the books could have a cover. She didn't make the next season. Her front door wasn't strong enough and just collapsed inwards under the weight of ‘them’. The guy at the trade shop who had ordered the doors was found a week later. The church refused to have him buried on their land.

You know most of the deaths don't happen during the fifth season. Sure a ton of people are found torn up by whatever ‘they’ are but in reality more people die from rebellious whispers after too many drinks, thinking they can fight God. Some of the elderly do it on purpose, just too tired to go on. After my mum was found in the kitchen (and bathroom and the bedroom), my girlfriend was was accidentally strangled in her sleep by the necklace her sister gave her. My friends just gave up; Jason's gone and they are all gone. I gave up. There's no use fighting what is waiting for us but I can give the next generation a warning. I'm not going down without a fight. All the windows in my house are closed and the gas has been escaping into the house for the last twenty minutes and Mum filled this place with old electronic trinkets. This is going to be one hell of a bang. Good Ni

**Author's Note:**

> This was my Higher English Creative peice so I spent months going over it with my teacher but if you have anything constructive/ destructive or just blatant praise then I'm game.


End file.
